Oedipus
by Nyx-Zephyrus
Summary: Sakurazukamori is sometimes forgetful.


His mother's gentle, almost musical voice curled delicately around his senses. "Why didn't you kill him, Sei?"

He didn't answer. He did, however, notice that he was almost out of cigarettes, and thought absently that he should detour to get some on the subway that afternoon. It was getting colder; the underground was packed with even more disgruntled passengers than usual, queue lengthened to include those who would usually have walked. Seishiro didn't mind.

"No answer, hmm?"

"Be quiet," he told her, not unkindly. He had Things to do, and she was distracting him. His eyes—both eyes, out of habit, he supposed—scanned the crowd as best they were able. Unnecessary, he knew. He would be able to sense it when his target arrived.

For a while, she obliged. Seishiro continued with his work.

.X.

.X.

.X.

.X.

.X.

.X.

There was a young tree just outside the window in his new home; at first amused glance, he'd mistaken the small white petals for sakura blooms. The ironic illusion was shortly dispelled and the sapling had proven to be an apple tree, though many years from bearing fruit. Seishiro was vaguely put out, having liked the idea. He'd thought about having it removed. 

He'd never particularly liked starlight, but he had to appreciate the aesthetic now as it showed the sharp, shadowed contrast between his skin and hers. The woman—she'd told him her name, he'd forgotten—was slender and petite, skin pale in the sun and ivory in the stars. He'd liked her face most of all. Delicate, almost porcelain-painted, with wide brown eyes and a small, pointed chin. Her eyes were shut now, full half-moon lashes brushing the high cheeks. She had a voice like his mother.

When he inhaled, her cosmetic scent of sandalwood and jasmine filled his senses. When he exhaled, there was the never-fading scent of blood that seemed to saturate his lungs, adding the taste of bronze on his breath. Both, he decided, were pleasant.

The pretty woman left in the morning, unharmed, and only vaguely confused as to the trembling sensation of apprehension that she hadn't noticed the night before.

.X.

.X.

.X.

.X.

.X.

.X.

"SEISHIRO!"

He let a smile curl around his lips; oh, Subaru. That dedication would be the end of the beautiful boy, he was sure. For someone once so timid, the remaining Sumeragi twin was all fire, now, all fury and callous and directionless power. Seishiro had been, he had to admit, a little startled at first to see the man so absolutely changed. He hadn't thought himself to be such a radical.

For now he slid into practiced shadow, mindlessly pulling off his expensive Italian leather gloves and stuffing them into his pocket. They were probably ruined.

"SEISHIRO! DAMN IT, SHOW YOURSELF!"

"Shouldn't shout," he murmured quietly. Really, Subaru's voice would grow raspy and unpleasing if he kept that up. He listened to the splashing of Subaru's furious footsteps, probably ignoring the splatters and buckets of blood on the walls in favor of seeking out his prey. He wouldn't find Seishiro, they both knew it. Seishiro never fell out of rhythm, had _always _stayed several steps ahead of his lovely, broken-legged dance partner.

He turned to leave, carefully masking his presence. Subaru's rage and frustration tainted the air, added to the bloodstained promise that he would someday find him. Seishiro smiled and gave a little nod into the air.

.X.

.X.

.X.

.X.

.X.

.X.

_Seishi…ro…_

He listened to the sound of his own footsteps, and inhaled the dirty city air. It was, perhaps, going to rain. That'd be nice; clear some of the ever-present Tokyo smog. Seishiro reached for his cigarretes.

_I… love… you…_

But it seemed he was out again. Too much time cooped up in a hospital bed, obviously. He needed to keep better track.

Those words. Seishiro felt an aggravating sensation of tightness in his chest, and he paused briefly. It felt… almost as if he'd forgotten something and should return to the room, return there _now… _

Several moments passed before Seishiro continued down the narrow city streets, shoes sharp and hard against the pavement. The feeling would pass. He had Things to do.


End file.
